


quoting Rhett Butler

by haleofStilesheart



Series: Valentine's Day Fic Giveaway (2017) [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College Student Stiles, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Past Stiles Stilinski/Original Character(s), Pining Stiles Stilinski, Romantic Derek, blow jobs (mentioned), hand jobs (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-25 00:23:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9794201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haleofStilesheart/pseuds/haleofStilesheart
Summary: Stiles has a bad habit of dating complete assholes. Good thing Derek's there to knock some sense into him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [endgame-sterek (HannahGrace125)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HannahGrace125/gifts).



> For the prompt: "You should be kissed and kissed often and by someone who knows how."

Stiles had a less than amazing dating history. To be completely honest, it was actually rather horrible.

Since he had started college, no longer stuck in classes with the same people who had condemned him to being the weird nerdy kid who couldn’t shut up to save his life, Stiles had blossomed. He was more confident, more outgoing, more self-assured. He was less self-conscious, comfortable enough to voice his opinions and flaunt his interests without fear of being ridiculed.

His newfound confidence even translated to his more romantic endeavors. He was no longer petrified of rejection, learning to hope for the best instead of anticipating for the the absolute worst.

When he met someone he found attractive or interesting, instead of convincing himself that they were way out of his league, he would focus on all of the potential possibilities. He would contemplate how nice a potential relationship, all the fun new things he could experience.

But while he was living college life to the fullest, partying with his classmates every weekend and going out on dates with anyone who asked or whoever Erica set him up with, he learned a very harsh truth. He had a habit of going out with complete assholes.

First, there had been Rob, a guy from his AP History class who had dreams of becoming a pro baseball player. He had been a charmer, constantly flirting with Stiles in the days leading up to their first date, always greeting him in class with a smirk and a wink. 

He was a nice enough guy, that Stiles could concede, but he was also kind of a dick. With a wandering eye to boot. Every time they went out, without fail, he would end up paying more attention to their waiter’s ass than Stiles’ stories.

Stiles had finally broken things off when he caught Rob red-handed, shamelessly ogling Boyd while he and Stiles were on a double date with Erica and Boyd. He had nearly emptied his illegally gotten beer over Rob’s head in the middle of the restaurant. It was only because he didn’t want to make a scene that he managed to refrain, though later Erica advised him that he really should have just done it anyway. 

After Rob, Stiles started dating a girl that Erica set him up with, a pretty brunette from another college name Ashlee whose biggest pet peeve was when spelled her name wrong. As someone who could relate, his nickname Stiles only a necessity because his first name was a nightmare to spell or even simply pronounce for most English speakers, Stiles hit it off with her from the get-go.

She was a philosophy major, a big fan of the Hobbesian theory of government, and absolutely adored playing the new Fallout game. They went on several dates, mostly to parties where they both danced terribly and got shitfaced on cheap whiskey that someone had bought with their obviously fake ID.

She gave him his first handjob, in the Jeep in front of her dorm building while Stiles dropped her off from one of their dates. She had slipped her hand down his pants after dinner at a local diner as they clumsily kissed. He came in his pants after just a few light strokes, face flushing as he apologized for coming so fast, a jolt of embarrassment shooting through him.

She had shut him up with a kiss and promised that next time he could get her off, winking seductively as she climbed out of the Jeep to jog up the walk to her building. But Stiles never got the chance. He found out a few days later that she was seeing two other guys in addition to himself. He had ended things on the spot.

After taking a few weeks to get over Ashlee, he had gone out with a guy from his English 101 class, the one he had fantasized about sleeping with a few times. His name was Andrew, spelled the usual way, and he was very easily one of the most seductive people Stiles had ever met in his nineteen years of life, with his easy grins and gorgeous blue eyes.

They dated for a couple weeks, Stiles performing his first blow job on him in his dorm, relying on years of watching porn to influence his technique, moaning obnoxiously a few times the way he had seen in pornos too many times. Andrew seemed to appreciate it, fisting a hand in Stiles’ hair to buck up into his mouth as he grunted, loud and crude, before finally coming.

He got dumped the following day. Andrew had claimed he just wanted a quick fuck, not some clingy boyfriend. Stiles had been pissed, drowning his woes in a bottle of booze and flooding the pack group chat with rants about how much of a jackass Andrew was.

It all dissolved into a series of half-assed dates after that, Stiles no longer caring enough to remember all of their names. Almost all of them turned out to be jerks in the end, anyway.

But there was a silver lining in the midst of all his dating sorrows. Derek.

Because whenever he had a bad date or some asshole blew him off, Derek was always there, just a phone call or a short drive away. He was always more than willing to listen to Stiles lament his poor taste in men and women alike, on occasion literally letting Stiles cry on his shoulder.

When Stiles decided to make the drive back to Beacon Hills from Stanford, usually on the weekends or breaks from classes, Derek would let him curl up with a nice warm blanket on the couch in the loft. He would make him a big steaming cup of homemade hot chocolate to sip on while he rambled on and on about how much he was thinking about just giving up on dating altogether.

Derek would sit with him on the couch, rub his back and run his fingers through his hair, lending a listening ear without a trace of judgement, just letting him vent and complain. He was a wonderful listener, on a few occasions offering some harsh words himself about Stiles’ dates, especially the ones that treated him like shit.

But as much as Stiles really did appreciate all of Derek’s support, it wasn’t doing much to help him get over his crush on him.

For years, since they had first met in the preserve while he and Scott were looking for his lost inhaler, Stiles had been so gone on Derek that it was nothing less pathetic. He had done quite a good job at hiding his utterly hopeless crush, only a handful of people aware of it, namely his dad and Boyd, but now he was in serious jeopardy of letting it slip, coming closer and closer to simply blurting out a confession whenever he was with him.

Like right now.

He was curled up on the couch with Derek, resting his cheek on Derek’s shoulder as they sipped rich hot chocolate and watched reruns of Daredevil, though Stiles was still freaked out by the fact that one of the Ranskahov brother, Anatoly, looked eerily like Deucalion. He had gone over to Derek’s loft after another awful date, plopping down beside the alpha on the couch without any preamble and launching into an incredibly detailed account of his evening.

Derek had listened intently, only interrupting to run to the kitchen to make some hot chocolate for the both of them, returning with both mugs and a box of Stiles’ favorite Girl Scout Cookies. He had taken a seat back down on the couch, pulling Stiles’ feet into his lap and winding an arm around his shoulders to tug him a little closer.

“And then,” Stiles drawled with a sniff, taking another bite of his half-eaten Tagalong, waiting until he was done chewing to go on. Derek waited patiently, running his hand up and down Stiles’ back, completely ignoring the action on screen as Stiles said, “He just left. Just like that!”

“Asshole,” Derek commented, reaching over to grab his cup of hot chocolate, raising it to his lips to take a few sips, a dab of whipped cream sticking to the tip of his nose. He set his cup back down on the coffee table and grabbed a cookie for himself before leaning back against the comfy couch cushions, nodding at Stiles to go on.

“He literally told me that he’d fuck me but he wouldn’t kiss me!” Stiles relayed, frustration soaked into every word, gesturing a bit frantically as he recounted the failed date for Derek, resolving to never go out with anyone Erica set him up with. Popping the last bit of his cookie into his mouth, he incredulously demanded, “Like who does that?!”

Derek just shrugged, wincing in sympathy, squeezing Stiles’ left hand comfortingly, brushing his thumb over the blue veins on the back of Stiles’ hand. His thick brows furrowed as he regarded Stiles who ducked his head a bit and slumped his shoulders, his own brows drawn together as he stared down at his lap.

“I don’t know,” Stiles murmured with a weary sigh, running a hand through his perpetually messy hair, eyes downcast. With another deep sigh, insecurity flaring up, he dejectedly mumbled, “Maybe I shouldn’t be kissed. Maybe I don’t deserve, y’know?”

“Stiles…” Derek whispered very softly, blinking in surprise a few times while his eyes widened in shock, a deep furrow between his eyebrows as he looked at Stiles. He raised a hand to cup Stiles’ cheek, guiding his face up until their eyes finally met, brushing his thumb over the smooth skin of Stiles’ cheek as he gravely announced, “You should be kissed, and kissed often, and by someone who knows how.”

Stiles was stunned, gaping up at Derek, certain that he must be hallucinating, must be dreaming because there was no way in hell that Derek had just said that. In spite of the shock, he managed to very softly, very weakly joke, “Sounds like you’re volunteering.”

“Maybe I am,” Derek responded without a moment of hesitation, leaning in closer to rest his forehead against Stiles’, thumb still sweeping over the expanse of Stiles’ cheek. He let his eyes fall closed with a soft exhale, Stiles watching the entrancing flutter of his sooty eyelashes as they shut, fanning out on his swarthy cheeks.

“Derek…” Stiles mumbled, voice shaking until it just trailed off entirely, a sudden wave of emotion nearly choking him up completely. He closed his eyes as well, leaning heavier against Derek, fisting his hand in the blanket covering his lap to stop the fidgeting of his fingers.

Swallowing heavily, fragile hope and paralyzing fear wrestling for supremacy within him, Derek the only one who could possibly decide the victor. Unable to keep from whining, a high keen bled into his voice as he quietly pleaded, “Don’t―” he took a moment to lick his lips, swallowing heavily “―Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not,” Derek denied, shaking his head a bit, their foreheads bumping against one another at the slight movement. He ran his thumb over a smattering of dark, prominent moles on Stiles’ cheek, tracing a pattern with no predetermined design over them as though following the lines of a river or some heavenly constellation.

His touch was gentle yet firm, caressing Stiles’ cheek as if he were something precious and cherished, but well aware that he wouldn’t break, that he wasn’t as frail as so many people thought. It was a heady feeling, that Derek understood him so well that he knew just how to touch him, innocent as the gesture was.

Stiles wasn’t exactly sure who leaned in first, but regardless, they met in the middle, as though reeled in by some gravitational pull, their lips pressing against each other in the most chaste of his life.

He was used to rough kisses, hands gripping his hips a touch too tight. He was used to sloppy kisses, the sour taste of stale beer and cheap pot filling his mouth. He was used to casual kisses, at parties and bars and concerts. But he wasn’t used to this.

He wasn’t used to the way Derek touched their lips together in a barely there rasp. He wasn’t used to the way Derek absentmindedly stroked his thumb over his cheek, caressing him as they kissed. He wasn’t used to the way Derek just held him, not demanding or asking for more.

Though Stiles would gladly give him more.

Not wanting to rush through it, the way he did with all of his dates, all of the people he always found himself comparing to Derek, Stiles hummed into the kiss, actually letting himself savor it. He had no idea how long it would last, how long he would have Derek all to himself this way.

He uncurled his fingers from their death grip on the blanket in his lap to cup Derek’s stubbled cheek, scratching his fingertips through the coarse dark hairs, just to feel it against his skin. He had always wondered about it would feel, if it was soft or rough, finding that ultimately it was a curious mix of the two textures.

He scooted a little closer, parting his legs which were already in Derek’s lap to wrap one around the werewolf’s waist, just wanting to be closer to him. Derek didn’t seem to mind, using his free hand to grab Stiles under the knee and gently tug him closer, smiling a little into the kiss at Stiles’ eagerness.

Unfortunately, Stiles eventually had to pull away to get some air, tightly winding his arms around Derek’s neck, not wanting him to leave. It would be so like Derek to immediately regret the kiss or feel some sort of misplaced guilt because of it, covering it up with gruff bluster. But Stiles was sick and tired of Derek running away from him. He wanted him to  _ stay _ .

Trying to stave off a pleading whimper, Stiles panted wetly against Derek’s smirking, the werewolf very clearly preening at the fact that he had elicited such a reaction from him. And Stiles had to admit that it was rather impressive. No one else he had ever kissed had ever achieved the same result just from one little kiss. 

Somehow managing to work up the nerve to ask Derek if he was a hundred percent serious about his claim and the implications it carried with it, Stiles rasped, “You-You said often…?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I did,” Derek confirmed as he leaned in to kiss Stiles again. And again and again and again.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr [here](http://hale-of-stiles-heart.tumblr.com/), maybe send me a prompt if you feel like it!


End file.
